


Off Topic

by quantumscribe



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumscribe/pseuds/quantumscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has trouble staying focused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off Topic

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #58: “Greg/Clive, talking during sex - whether it's actual dirty talk, or just trying to carry on with a normal pre-coital conversation despite things getting progressively hotter and heavier between them.” Originally posted August 2014 at the WLIIA Fanfiction Archive on Livejournal.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now, Clive? _Dog Day Afternoon_ is more than 'one of Lumet's best movies', it's a fucking masterpiece."

"I never said it wasn't," Clive replied stoically. "Of his movies, I simply prefer _Network_. It won more Oscars as well."

Greg increased his pace to turn and look Clive in the face incredulously. "That's bullshit and you know it. Do you really need me to talk about how Oscars don't mean a goddamn thing? Because I will happily address that topic if you want me to."

"Spare me," said Clive, raising a hand. "Forget I brought it up. But even you can't deny that _Network_ is an exceptional movie."

"It's good, certainly," said Greg as they climbed the stairs to Clive's flat. "But _Dog Day_ has biting social commentary, great cinematography, _and_ young, sexy Al Pacino." He waggled his eyebrows at Clive.

"I should have known," sighed Clive. Greg followed him into the flat and hung up his jacket before proceeding uninvited to the liquor cabinet. "Do you ever think of anything else?"

"On occasion." Greg smirked, pouring himself a vodka. "What would you rather I think about?"

"Staying on topic would be a decent start," said Clive, snagging a glass for himself. "Leaving behind the issue of the Oscars, though, _Network_ arguably has entered the general consciousness more than _Dog Day Afternoon_. Its appeal is broader-"

Greg circled the counter to back Clive into it, holding eye contact, smirk never leaving his face as his hands briefly cupped Clive's hips before sliding up his chest. "You sure there's nothing else you wanted to talk about right now?"

"You've been insatiable all evening, Greg."

"You don't know the half of it," Greg said, now setting down his glass and ever so slowly loosening Clive's tie as he leaned in to breathe into the other man's ear. "I exercised _incredible_ self-control tonight, you know."

Clive breathed in slowly and lifted his chin the slightest bit. "Really? I must have missed it."

Greg's usually nasal voice dropped a full octave. "I wanted to fuck you at dinner tonight, you looked so relaxed and so fucking good. Wanted to drag you into the men's room, even for just a minute or two." He pulled back slightly and placed light kisses along Clive's jawline. "But I didn't."

"No," said Clive as the tie finally slipped from his neck and Greg's hands began work on his shirt buttons. "Instead you kicked off an hour-long discussion about the finer points of Sidney Lumet's filmography."

Unable to wait any longer, one of Greg's hands slid under Clive's undone shirt, lightly scratching the skin while the other hand stumbled over the remaining buttons. "What can I say? I'm a multi-tasker." Although Clive's head was starting to unconsciously follow his movements, Greg denied him the pleasure and swooped down to kiss and lick at his neck. "You were saying about the cultural relevance?"

"The themes are more widely relatable," said Clive after a moment of gathering his thoughts. "The allure of the lies of television, the mad prophet of the airways - even the medium itself means-" He cut himself off with a sharp gasp as Greg bit down on his pulse point.

In an instant, Clive was slammed against the wall and being thoroughly kissed, Greg’s hands fisted in his open shirt, simultaneously pulling him closer and pushing the shirt off his shoulders. Clive quickly shrugged it off before returning his hands to Greg’s sides, letting out a grunt when he encountered fabric instead of bare skin. Greg smirked into their kiss.

“That’s what you really wanted, isn’t it?” He attempted to undo his buttons with one hand; Clive, suddenly impatient, turned them around to push Greg into the wall, pulled the shirt from his pants, and slid his hands around Greg’s back and up, rucking the shirt up around his arms.

Greg let out a breath just on the edge of a whimper as Clive’s hot skin made contact with his own, involuntarily bucking his hips into the shorter man’s. He raised his arms above his head to let Clive push the shirt off him, but it snagged on his wrists until Clive gave a sharp tug and the buttons gave way.

Greg reached for Clive, who slammed his wrists into the wall and leaned in close. “I want you…” he said, leaning forward to increase the pressure, “…To stay on topic.”

“Seriously?” Greg laughed. Clive released Greg’s wrists and started moving down his torso, pausing to lick and bite at a nipple.

Clive’s voice was hoarse and low as he said, “You can laugh all you like, but I will not _move_ until you start talking.”

Greg shook his head, still chuckling even though his breath hitched, and Clive stopped his ministrations to stare at him until he gave in.

“Fine, fine. Just keep… doing what you were doing.”

Clive continued to watch him until Greg rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh. “You’re a total bastard, you know that? All right. _Dog Day Afternoon_ is a fucking masterpiece of a film. There’s only one song in the entire thing, over the opening credits, and it turns out to be a car radio playing.”

Clive resumed his descent, dropping to his knees and slowly undoing Greg’s belt, brushing his knuckles along Greg’s belly.

“Then it’s just realism the entire way through. No score, just sweaty, dark, frantic, well-paced tension. For a movie of that era, it’s incre-“ Greg’s last word trailed off into an embarrassingly loud moan as Clive mouthed him through the fabric of his shorts. His hand found its way into Clive’s surprisingly thick hair, not restraining him, but encouraging.

Clive stopped again, fingers curled at the elastic waistband of Greg’s boxers, waiting for him to continue. It took Greg a moment to realize what had happened and another to collect his thoughts into a semi-coherent form.

“Incredibly well-paced,” he gasped as Clive slid his boxers down his legs. “Even the scenes when they’re sitting around waiting for pizza, it doesn’t get boring. The- _fuck!”_

Clive took him fully in his mouth before pulling back and licking him from base to tip, and Greg’s thoughts scattered. When he felt Clive about to stop, he tightened his hand in Clive’s hair and desperately searched for words that made sense together.

“Social commentary -” Clive resumed his activities with vigor. “When the guard is let out – and the police tackle him – when the wife shows up -” Greg started to thrust lightly into Clive’s mouth, increasing the tempo when it became clear he could take it. “And the phone – oh, fucking _hell,_ Clive!”

Clive’s hands clamped down on Greg’s hips as he arched his back, pushing his head into the wall and moaning loudly as he came. Clive swallowed and sat back, shaking fingers stumbling over his own belt, and Greg’s legs gave way so that he slid down the wall to land boneless and gulping air at eye level with the older man.

“Let…” Greg managed to get out as he reached clumsily for Clive, letting out a soft moan at the sight of his mussed hair and swollen lips. Clive whimpered when Greg’s hands delved past his shorts and finally made contact with him, not even a little whine but an honest-to-goodness whimper and Greg laughed breathlessly as he stroked Clive’s cock. He tried to lean in and kiss Clive again, but his fine motor control hadn’t yet recovered and he ended up just panting over Clive’s lips before changing goals and licking his neck. Clive’s hips jerked under his hands and he came without a sound, stiffening and clutching Greg’s upper arms tightly enough to leave marks.

They leaned forward against each other, sprawled awkwardly but un-self-consciously on the floor as they tried to get their breath back. Finally, Greg kissed Clive, softly but long, and said, “I think I won this argument.”

Clive rolled his eyes. “Do shut up, Greg.”


End file.
